


Perihelion

by laudanum_and_wine



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, lazy sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:46:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Super sappy slice-of-life of a not-too-lazy Sunday in the Daredevil household. Everyone deserves a normal boring day once in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perihelion

They had a routine and it was almost perfect. 

At about 6:30am Karen woke up in the cold and the dark. Her body had never gotten used to the idea of “weekends” and so without fail she was wide awake at the same time every day, bright or rainy or Sunday morning. Her feet would welcome the shock of the cold floor with a sort of wince, but she never really lingered despite the chill. 

She smiled at the men in bed, a puddle of limbs and sheets, and tried to quietly sort through the dresser and find her jogging pants. A few minutes of rustling clothing later and she was padding through the silent apartment in socks. With a whisper she knelt down. 

“Matt... Darling. Matty,” She held an outflung hand and rubbed small circles across its palm. “Come on. Wake up dear.”

“I'm awake,” the mans voice rasped as his eyes blinked open. 

“I'm headed out. It's almost seven, you should get moving.” Karen placed a lingering kiss on his forehead and padded out of the bedroom. She gently slipped her running shoes on, finger tracing the hold in the lining of the right heel briefly. She glanced back for a moment, smiling at the tangle of feet and legs she could just see from her position at the door, then stepped into the hallway. 

Within just a few minutes her feet were pounding the pavement, slowly edging toward the park. Her mace was tucked into her windbreaker pocket, but she felt safer in the early morning than any other time. She'd manage short hellos around her breaths, smiling at the bleary eyed workers slurping scalding coffee. Clear mornings she felt like being kind enough early enough might just shoehorn goodwill into the city, that she might make a difference. Every little bit counted, right? 

~~~

Matt first very carefully extricated his limbs from the man beside him, then rolled gently upright in the bed. As he shifted, he could hear Foggy's eyelids flutter slightly, half-sensed a clumsy arm waiving, and finally felt Foggy's hand settle on his stomach. 

“Foggy, go back to sleep,” he patted the other mans arm gently. Foggy let out a half-moan and moved his hand down repeatedly. Was he- 

“Are- are you petting my abs?” 

“Maybefff...” Foggy shrugged with eyes still closed, then finally rolled over into the other side of the bed with a huff. There was a whisper of the smell of feathers as he crushed his face into the the pillow Karen had abandoned. Mat laughed, kissing the nearest shoulder gently as he slipped to the floor.

From the kitchen Matt could hear the gentle gasps and snores of Foggy slowly falling back toward deep sleep over the sound of slowly boiling water. When the bubbles were roaring loudly, Matt moved the kettle off the stove, padding across the floor in thick socks. He unfolded the paper filter and measured out three spoons full of coffee, leveling the top of each scoop with the sweep of a finger. With one hand he added a spoon of honey to the bottom of a heavy mug, with the other he poured the water into the cold Chemex carafe. After letting exactly one strong cup of drip coffee collect listening to the drips grow higher in pitch as the fluid in the jar rose, he lifted the filter to pour out the first incredibly strong cup for himself. The warm scent of summer and earth billowed up from the cup, taking him to summer, community gardens, and hot dirt under his fingers. Is was almost spring, maybe they could start a garden, he mused on the idea as he toured the coffee through the bedroom. 

“Offee?” Foggy snorted slightly, trying to raise his head. His hair scratched past the pillowcase as he shifted. 

“Yes. But it will be there when you wake up too.” 

“Have I said,” Foggy settled back into the bed as Matt pulled a suit from the closet and began to dress, “I adored you.” 

“Was that a question or a statement?” Matt slipped into a dress shirt with a smile. 

“Go away.” 

With a quiet laugh, Matt slipped his jacket over one arm and slipped back out of the room. He rubbed one hand over his jaw, listening to the light rasp of hair on skin. He'd shaved with Foggy last night for their “dinner date,” the left-overs of which were waiting on the second shelf of the fridge to become someones lunch. And it had been a damn good thing he had shaved because Foggy had made that awful joke, and then it had made Karen do that little snort-laugh everyone but her found adorable, and the evening had sort of spiraled from there into the kind of night where stubble could have given someone rather bad rug-burn.

Matt cleared his throat, coming back to reality after that particular memory and reminding himself he was headed to church and perhaps ought not to get distracted right this instant by memories of that kind. After all, it was Sunday, there would be time for breakfast and maybe even naps. 

~~

It took him two tries, some mornings, to become fully conscious. He'd dozed off for a moment after Matt left, but the fact that there was a pot of slowly cooling coffee out there finally roused him. With a grumble for no ones appreciation at all, he wrapped the sheet around himself and stood unsteadily. 

The sheet accompanied him through the living room and into the kitchen, up to the toaster in fact. There it chose to abandon him and rather to stay tangled in the chair he'd wandered past, but so near to the coffee it was an acceptable abandonment all things considered. Foggy considered the coffee pot in the nude and wondered if his lovers would find this charming of hopelessly lazy. He eventually decided that as no one was there to see, he didn't particularly care, and poured himself a now-tepid cup of the black stimulant. 

Armed with a trusty liquid sidekick, he made the bed in the nude, picked up the scattered clothing from the night before in the nude, and combed his hair in the nude. By this point he felt it was becoming creepy to end every narrated sentence in his head with “in the nude,” and also that internal voice was starting to sound a little judgey. 

By the time he'd gotten through the shower and was wearing real clothing, he'd finished the pot of coffee. He was slowly making a new pot with still-damp hair when her heard a key in the lock. 

“Morning gorgeous! Welcome home, I put on pants for you!” Foggy fixed another cup of the half percolated coffee, holding the still dripping filter precariously over the cup while he poured. 

“What? I do not come home for pants! This is so unexpected, I don't know how to feel.” Karen toed off her shoes and carefully tucked them under the chair beside the front door. 

“Well admittedly they're sweats,” Foggy rounded the corner, presenting Karen with the mug. “But it's the thought that counts?” 

“Considering you only own slacks and sweats, I think this is actually perfect for Sunday,” Karen was headed to the bathroom, sipping the hot coffee with pink cheeks. 

“Just be happy I'm not 'in the nude'!” he called. 

“What?” 

“Nothing! I left you hot water!” 

The noise of the shower drowned out any further wall-penetrating conversation, so Foggy resigned himself to making breakfast. Pancakes were first, made halfway from scratch. Karen had mixed up a large jar of flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt with the right proportions the day she'd heard Matt complain about “tasting metal” in the cookies he'd bought at a church fundraiser. Foggy had to hand it to her, he'd never thought to put two and two together and realized Matt wasn't really voluntarily a healthy eater. Karen swore up and down she didn't like to cook, but she was the one who stocked the kitchen every week. Foggy tried to carry his own weight by doing the actual application-of-heat-to-ingredients portion of the job. 

While the pancakes stayed warm on a cookie sheet in the oven, Foggy pulled out the bacon and eggs. Foggy cut open the bacon and after a few seconds quiet deliberation set it to the side. The eggs were whipped together with a splash of creamer and a trim of fresh dill from the twist left over in the fridge, then thrown into the hot pan to sizzle and steam. As he gently stirred the eggs the sound of feet on the stairs began suddenly, and the door was half-thrown open. 

“Don't touch the bacon.” Matt was not precisely out of breath but his voice was clipped. 

“I was going to ask you,” Foggy stirred the eggs without batting an eye. “I couldn't remember even buying it and I went with Karen last Sunday, so I figured it had to be more than a week.” 

“Is that dill?” Matt gently leaned his cane beside the door and hung his keys with precision. 

“Yes, you'll love it.”

“In eggs?” 

“Shut up and throw the bacon away for me.” 

“Yes dear,” Matt pressed a quick kiss to Foggy's forehead as he wrapped the bacon back up in it's packaging. He deposited the whole mess into the trash, then paused. “I'll be right back.” 

“That bad?” 

“Yes,” Mat loosened the bag within the can and tied the top off. Foggy listened to the soft click as the other man shut the front door, taking the trash to the chute down the hall. The eggs were being divided onto three clean plates, the clink of china loud in the morning air. 

“Don't eat the bacon!” A puff of steam escaped the bathroom along with a towel-clad Karen, “Don't open it, just toss the whole thing.” 

“Being done as you speak.” 

“Done, actually.” Matt smirked and closed the door again. He toed his shoes off to sit next to Karen's by the door and feigned mock surprise “Wait Karen, are you naked?!” 

Karen raised an eyebrow and dropped her towel in reply, and Foggy wasn't sure if the better view was Matt's slowly reddening face or, well, all of Karen. He decided while both were well and great, the pancakes were in fact hot, and perhaps the best view of the morning. 

“Karen, control your superpowers and come get breakfast,” Foggy juggled the three plates to the small table while Karen shrugged and paced into the bedroom, presumably to change. He hoped. “I will eat your pancakes, you know!” Her laughter filled the apartment. 

“Thank you for breakfast Foggy,” Matt scooped up the damp towel and hung it over the bathroom door.

“Least I can do, with you two up at the crack of dawn and out in the frigid cold.”

Mat ran a hand along the back of the chair, sitting carefully. Foggy quietly poured out a fresh cup of black coffee and set it beside the eggs with an intentionally audible thunk. 

“Smells good, very homy,” Karen was combing through her damp hair with her fingers, padding into the living room in a comfortably threadbare sweatshirt.

“Homy?” Matt's head bobbed up from over his cup of coffee. 

“Yes, homy. Of of like a home. Similar to home-ish places. Of or pertaining to ones own home,” Karen sat and scooted her chair into the table. “Jeez Matt, find a dictionary.” 

“My apartment reminds you of home is what you're saying,” Matts voice was aimed for dry, but the question still hung in the air. 

“Buddy,” Foggy mussed Matts hair on the way past, handing Karen a cup of coffee, “Your apartment is our home. Our smelly shoes are in your hall, Karen's shampoo is in the bathtub. Accept it. We're here to stay. My condolences.” 

Foggy watched quietly as Matt sipped his coffee in silence. The sunlight warmed hit and warmed his hands. Karen was chatting about Mrs. Warren down the street, who she's spoken with at the park this morning. The scrape of forks on plates continued, and Karen kept up her one sided conversation with the occasional murmur of encouragement. Matt pushed his glasses up his nose incrementally. Foggy reached under the table and squeezed the other mans leg briefly, “Welcome home.”


End file.
